Unwavering Step
by Kairaita
Summary: You stand up, straighten your uniform, and stride out the door.


_~Unwavering Step~_

_In hell, there is no other punishment than to begin over and over again the tasks left unfinished in your lifetime._

_

* * *

_You stand up, straighten your uniform, and stride out the door.

It's a beautiful day, with the sun streaming through leafy trees. This sort of late-spring weather must be the reason that there are so many people here today. More than you expected. It's not a very special event, but there are the sorts of people who are excited about it, you suppose.

You inhale the fresh air deeply.

Your faithful Lieutenant follows quietly behind you, guns strapped carefully to her uniform, almost but deliberately not quite concealed. Falman and Breda are talking under their breaths, but salute dutifully as you approach them. Fuery is fidgeting more nervously than usual, and Havoc is somehow chewing his cigarette and smoking it at the same time. It gives you a faint surge of pride every time you see Havoc standing again, but you dismiss the thought quickly and walk past them; you're on a tight schedule. You hear them fall into step behind you and the Lieutenant. Stubborn men. But you know that they have and always will have your back, and you feel the corner of your mouth twitch upward in a smirk. You'll miss this feeling, if nothing else.

It's an unpleasant thought that they use the same site every time that they need to, but it's been so long now. They're not going to change it for one more person. They have the area around roped off within fifteen feet, keeping the mass of people well back, and no one is standing directly behind the single lonely pole in the middle of the space. Your team backs away reluctantly to join the tangled cluster of people, but Hawkeye veers off in another direction. You walk up to the pole alone under the watchful eye of Olivier Mira Armstrong, and you permit some nameless soldier to tie your hands behind it, effectively locking you into place.

There are familiar faces in the crowd. People you've passed in Central Headquarters, people you've worked with in investigations, people who have known you, fear you, resent you, support you, and everything in between.

Three more faces stand out. They're all older now, but you still have the image of a worried girl with a long ponytail, a large suit of armor with the voice of a child, and a short boy minus an arm and a leg with eyes burning like fire present in your mind and to you, that's the first thing you'll always remember them as. Why are you looking at me like that, Mrs. Rockbell? Fullmetal isn't a State Alchemist anymore; you don't need to worry about him. Have you been eating properly, Alphonse? It's been a while since you regained your body, yet you seem rather pale at the moment.

Fullmetal, don't make that sort of face. It's going to stick permanently.

Lieutenant Hawkeye is handed a rifle. You watch her run a hand lightly along the barrel, no doubt testing it for cracks or other deficiencies. You've watched her clean so many guns over the years, but you can tell by now the way she takes the job seriously, treating the gun with respect and in turn being given the title "The Hawk's Eye". She nods, apparently satisfied with the quality, and it's just as well.

You've declined the blindfold. There's no point in having one when you won't have a use for it anyway. And now finally, _finally,_ someone begins to speak openly, a welcome change from the quiet murmuring and muttering of the crowd.

General Roy Mustang, they say. Always with the titles and official statements and meaningless drivel, you think. You'd like it if they could get on with it, but regulations and proper documenting probably matters to someone. The voice drones on: For the actions taken in Ishval by the military…

You tune the words out. You know them by heart anyway, having heard them a hundred times in dreams and reality. Instead, you flashback to a particularly memorable conversation you had with the Lieutenant the other day.

_I've asked to do the job, Hawkeye says. You marvel at her professionalism, even now._

_Good, you reply. There's no one else you trust more. You can rest easy now._

_There is silence between you both, only the sound of gentle breathing. It's a nice sound, you think. Breathing. It's proof of life and existence._

_You're selfish, Hawkeye suddenly says with brutal honesty. You flinch a bit at the words, because it's true. There are any number of responses to her statement- _I don't know what you're talking about, no I'm not, what was that again, I'm sorry- _but none of them seem right. _

_Yes, you say at last. I am. _

The crowd has fallen silent now. You glance around, noting every last sight and sound and smell; it really is a nice day. The birds continue to chirp a cheerful tune.

Looking up, around, straight ahead, locking eyes with her.

You wonder why you never noticed her eyes properly before. They're big, dark, and beautiful, but ever so sharp. And they're red. A sort of muted red that could easily be taken as brown, but now you can see clearly that they're red, a bit like an Ishvalan's (does she blame you for the same thing?), except not nearly so vibrant. They give her eyes a warmer look. Thankfully, they're also dry.

_No tears, you remember saying. You don't want to see those pure tears wasted on someone like yourself. Not a single drop. _

_No tears, she repeats. And you know it's a promise that she'll keep._

You hear the gun click, and she lifts it up to her shoulder in one easy movement. You remember the last time she pointed a gun at you was to your back.

You exhale, letting your breath out in a sigh.

You feel oddly detached from the scene. The faces in the crowd swirl away into an indistinguishable mass, and it seems like there's no one else except you and her. Your Lieutenant is aiming a gun at you again, and you're fairly sure you're just imagining a faint waver of her steady hands. There's a sort of relief that washes over you: she won't have to follow you into hell this time. She can truly become her own individual being for real.

It hits you like a car then, at this very moment.

And you suddenly, finally, realize that you don't want to die.

There is too much left to do. You haven't made it to the top yet. You haven't changed the entire country yet. You haven't personally fulfilled your entire promise to Ishval yet. You haven't gotten 520 cens back yet. You haven't thanked everyone enough yet. You haven't finished everything that you will ever need to, have to, _want_ to do._ You haven't kissed her yet._

_I don't want to die._

_I don't want to die. _

_I don't want to die. _

_I. Don't. Want. To. Die._

_Riz—_

_

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_**A/N:** The result of an idea that wouldn't go away, a new style, and attempting to experiment with second-person perspective. Not too pleased with it, to be honest, but…eh.

Vaguely AU, since I don't really think it would happen (if ever) like that. Thanks for reading!


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